


This is Gospel

by Arowen12



Series: The Family Business (Saving People, Hunting Things) [3]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Supernatural
Genre: Crossroad Deals, Emperor's New Clothes AU basically, Gen, Hell, M/M, Other implied referenced relationships, The trilogy, Torture, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22044391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: It was supposed to have been a simple poltergeist mission. A simple mission. Just a salt and burn. Demons. It had to be Demons. Why?Ryan was panting beside him, one hand pressed to his throat where the knife had left a score, it wasn’t deep but Ryan glared at him nonetheless. It wasn’t the time. They couldn’t afford to fight, not now. Brendon tightened his fingers on the knife and flashed Ryan an apologetic expression warily keeping an eye on the blond Demon who was studying the two of them.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Series: The Family Business (Saving People, Hunting Things) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517192
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	This is Gospel

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I am here with a ‘quick’ little interlude, there’s some other stuff I need to finish before I can write the sequel for To The End but I have time to write this. This fic is an insight into what happened with Panic within the general au. Also, I don’t have any ill feelings towards any of the former panic members but if it comes across like that its because of the point of view. Anyways, read on and enjoy!  
> Italics takes place in the past.

X

This is gospel, for the fallen ones

Locked away in permanent slumber

Assembling their philosophies

From pieces of Broken memories

X

Brendon slammed into the wall with a pained cry, all the breath forced from his lungs like he was drowning as his spine lit up with pain and he slumped towards the ground. Distantly he could hear someone calling his name but the sound was fuzzy like it was reaching Brendon through a wall of water. Blood trickled down his forehead and into his eyes as Brendon attempted to rise from the wall peering blearily into the distance of the living room.

It was supposed to have been a simple poltergeist mission. A simple mission. Just a salt and burn.

Why? For what?

Brendon sucked in a harsh lungful of air as he stumbled to his feet, the cut on his thigh burned like a bitch and everything felt off-balance, like the world had inverted itself while he had been embracing the wall. Brendon rolled his good shoulder and grasped at the handle of his knife as he weaved towards the sound of fighting.

Something went flying through the air as Brendon ducked through the doorway his heart heavy in his throat. The vase, he thought it was a vase, shattered upon impact with the wall behind him as Brendon observed the situation.

Spencer’s eyes were golden in the darkness of the antique home as he grappled with a man in a dark black outfit with eyes like ice at night. Jon had his hands around the throat of a large man in a dark suit, Brendon could see a dagger in the man’s hand. Ryan was being pressed against a wall by a woman with platinum blond hair and a black pantsuit, she had a knife to his throat and a grin on her face that was too wide, too much.

Brendon made a choice.

He called out Jon’s name as he gripped his knife in blood-slick fingers, the cut on his thigh and the bullet in his shoulder stung as he shoved aside the woman with platinum hair. A bang split the air as Ryan beside him fired his gun. The bullet hit the woman’s stomach with a blossom of red but the lady didn’t move, didn’t cry out in pain, just grinned and grinned.

Demons. It had to be Demons.

Why?

Ryan was panting beside him, one hand pressed to his throat where the knife had left a score, it wasn’t deep but Ryan glared at him nonetheless. It wasn’t the time. They couldn’t afford to fight, not now. Brendon tightened his fingers on the knife and flashed Ryan an apologetic expression warily keeping an eye on the blond Demon who was studying the two of them.

“Tell me where it is and I might just let you live.”

She stated her voice low and crooning, she was suddenly sultry, like a girl on the street corner at night as she stared at them from under her eyelashes. The air was strange and paused and Brendon could see Jon pinned to the wall a dagger almost but not quite pressed to his gut and Spencer underneath the other Demon.

“Where what is?”

Brendon asked confused and glanced at Ryan who was frowning, hand still pressed to his throat as he gasped for breath and his eyes darted around the room at Spencer, at Jon, finally at Brendon. There was something there but Brendon wasn’t sure what; ever since his dad, maybe before that he hadn’t been able to read Ryan, he wondered if he ever had.

The blond Demon tilted her head with pursed lips and stared at him for a long moment before she shook her head and stated, “The key, we know you have it. Where is the key?”

Something dawned on Ryan’s face, maybe realisation, maybe fear. When Ryan glanced at Brendon, blood coating his fingers too bright against the washed-out colours of the room, Brendon understood the shake of his head.

“Nope still no idea what you’re talking about sorry. Can we still leave alive?”

Brendon said with a bounce as his fingers played with the knife in his hands, Ryan looked pale and Brendon could see the flush of panic on Jon and Spencer’s faces and too much blood. Dammit they weren’t prepared for this; they had their usual cache but nothing to deal with Demons. No holy water, no pre-recorded exorcisms, not even any spray paint. 

The Demon tilted her head back and laughed, it was a shallow laugh that reminded him of high school locker rooms and bitter words. She leveled them with a stare and stated, “Honey, I can tell you’re lying. That’s fine though we’ll just take it by force. It will _make_ my fucking day.”

Before Brendon had the chance to process her words everything descended into chaos as she flew at him. Brendon shoved Ryan out of the way and brought his own knife up to clatter against hers, the metal shrieked and sparks flew. In the distance, Brendon could only helplessly watch as the Demon drove his knife into Jon’s side. Spencer must have noticed as he flipped the Demon he was wrestling and pinned him to the ground with a nearby poker through the stomach.

“They were right, you four are quite tricky but no matter.”

The Demon said with a grin as her knife slid down Brendon’s towards his fingers, everything felt fuzzy and thick, too much blood loss and the bruises blossoming beneath his skin. Brendon frowned and attempted to twist the dagger but her grip was like iron and she didn’t budge, instead she grinned at him with dark eyes.

Suddenly her knee was in his gut. Brendon stumbled back gasping for breath as he sloppily brought his dagger up to defend against her strike. She batted it aside and Brendon was forced to duck to the side searching for anything as something began to ring inside his head.

Spencer called his name and Brendon reached out and caught the poker he had tossed him and whipped around to face the blond Demon who was staring at Brendon with a blood thirsty expression. Brendon’s eyes darted around the room searching, Spencer had tossed the other Demon through the window, shards of broken glass following his descent from the second story and he was cradling Jon. Ryan was leaning against the wall and he was saying something that Brendon couldn’t hear.

Brendon flinched back as the Demon invaded his space and the poker collided with her dagger with a hiss of sparks. He flipped the dagger in his hands and stabbed her chest but it did nothing only stained her chest red with blood sticky and hot as it dripped over Brendon’s fingers. She grinned and brought her dagger down as she suddenly lashed out with a punch.

He stumbled back only to trip over one of those weird foot rest things. He collapsed to the ground feeling like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs as the ringing grew louder and the Demon hovered over him the halo of her hair like sheets of ice.

Someone was calling his name.

Brendon’s hand scrambled for his dagger but she pressed his hand into the floor with the heel of her boot, he could feel his bones crack beneath the pressure as she raised her dagger and began to bring it down towards Brendon’s chest.

The Demon was thrown to the side as Ryan tackled her and pressed her against the wall. His voice rang through the air, that rhythm of his speech as the Latin flowed through the air and he pinned her hands to where the knife was embedded in his chest. The Demon struggled whipping back and forth, thrashing like a wild animal in a cage but it was useless, and Ryan finished the incantation with a hoarse breath as the vessel collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Brendon scrambled towards Ryan whose hands were grasped around the hilt of the knife, not pulling it out just holding it, blood dripped sluggishly from the cut over his neck and he looked pale, like a ghost. There were tears burning his eyes and the ringing in his ears grew louder as Brendon reached Ryan, he could see Spencer pressing on Jon’s wound whispering about how he had to stay with him goddamit and Brendon couldn’t breathe.

It was like some sixth sense and Brendon moved before he even really realised he was doing it as he jumped in front of Ryan. Pain burst like a vessel in his chest as the bullet tore through the right side of his chest. Brendon saw the Demon with the poker in his stomach collapse as Spencer shot him but all Brendon could feel was the pain and blood on his fingers, Ryan’s, his.

“Fuck Brendon, fuck.”

Ryan said quietly and the ringing was like the church bells in his ears as he slid carefully to the ground with Ryan, his arms were cold and Brendon felt like he was running a fever as everything became fuzzy and heavy.

“Brendon stay with me fuck; you aren’t dying first I claimed that.”

Ryan whispered pinching Brendon’s hands as blue and red light washed over the wrecked inside of the antique home. Some part of Brendon knew that was bad but all he could focus on was the pain as the door burst open and people in uniform rushed in.

They tried to pull Ryan away and Brendon cried out, because Ryan was so pale, too pale and he couldn’t leave him alone, not again.

Then Brendon was being lifted onto a gurney and he cried out as the movements jostled the bullet in his shoulder and the one in his chest. He glanced around feverishly for Jon, who was also on a gurney, for Spencer being led away with a hideous orange blanket. Where was Ryan. Ryan? There was a gurney, a body shaped mass and a sheet over its head. Brendon cried out as he was lifted into a vehicle pain and grief and then darkness.

X

Brendon jerked awake something was wrong, off disturbed, missing. Everything felt fuzzy, incomplete as Brendon blinked blinding white light out of his eyes. A nauseating mix of pain and numbness battled for dominance at the forefront of his attention as the light faded into blurry shapes hovering over him.

He blinked and waited for the shapes to solidify as a sharp pain spiked like lightning strikes across his body. Fuck it was worse than a bullet, or salt on an open wound, it was pulsing throbbing inside his head like a second heartbeat.

Where was he?

What happened?

Where were the others, Jon? Spencer? Ryan?

There had been Demons, right? Blood so much blood. His? Ryan’s? Jon’s? Spencer?

The shapes began to solidify pale grey and eyes peering down at him masks over their faces and covered in grey, so much grey. Was this Heaven? Hell? Where was he? What happened? There had been flashing lights, there had been a gurney, a sheet?

A voice called out, loud too loud and real.

Brendon shifted suddenly panicked. Where was he? He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see in the sea of grey. Hands pushed him against the cold metal of whatever he was lying on, those unceasing eyes stared down at him and voices rose blurry and indistinct like the buzz of cicada in the summertime or the sound of the heat in the desert.

Hands pushed him down, down, down. No!

Brendon struggled against the hands trying to escape, he had to find Ryan, Spencer, Jon. Where were they? Where was he?

Voices tried to speak soothingly like he was an injured animal but Brendon couldn’t hear them, could only see sightless eyes, judging, condemning, apathetic.

Someone placed a mask over Brendon’s lips and he screamed, they were trying to turn him into one of them. He couldn’t. No. He had to get out. Brendon tried to rip the mask off but hands seized his arms appearing from no where numerous and too strong as they pressed them to the bed and strapped him in.

Please, Brendon begged as he struggled for breath with the mask over his face. Everything was going dark again. Please. Fuzzy. Slow.

Where were they?

Then nothing.

X

_They were all so young when they started. Brendon wasn’t even finished high school at the time, amidst hunts he would finish his math homework, Spencer checking it over before passing it to Ryan who was marginally better at it._

_It was strange how he had met them, in hindsight. They had been hunting together Ryan and Spencer, it had always been Ryan-and-Spencer, since childhood they had been raised on it like some kids are raised with second languages. Them and Ian, who they had started working with because of his skill with reading and translating Latin._

_He had been so young, just a kid when they met. They had all been young, too young to get into that lifestyle._

_It had been on a case, a wendigo in their hometown and Brendon had been camping on some bible retreat with the church. They had saved him, and he had saved them in turn, instinct or maybe something else guiding his hand to pick up that gun and shoot the wendigo._

_Brendon couldn’t say. Only that the gun had fired true and Ryan had lived and had stared at Brendon with those eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. Brendon had been powerless to say no when they had asked if he wanted to hunt with them._

_He hadn’t known anything, hadn’t known what he was getting into. But God neither had they. Maybe it was all supposed to happen._

_Spencer told him later that it had been their first hunting mission solo, without any adults to help and they had almost fucked it up and lost their lives but Brendon had appeared like some knight in shining armour with pimples and gangly legs but an unshakeable hand._

_It would be nice to say the rest was history. They fell together, like shooting stars waiting to go supernova._

_They had taken a break from hunting to train Brendon as he submitted applications he didn’t care about and they showed him the difference between rock salt and regular, where to search for texts, the code hunters had but didn’t speak about._

_Then they found a poltergeist._

_God, they had treated it like it was everything. It had been a simple case too, an old man whose wife’s murder had never been solved._

_Brendon could still feel the stifling air of the library as they poured for hours over the statistics, old historical sheets, searching for a suspect. They had found one, an old man who had wanted the wife’s hand but lost to the other guy._

_They had been so stupid then too. They had confronted him expecting him to confess, Brendon remembered the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stood behind Spencer who was the most intimidating of them. They had been chased off with a shot-gun and they had all collapsed into the backseat of Ryan’s punch buggy drunk off the adrenaline and capri suns._

_In the end, they burned the bones and called it a day but Brendon remembers watching the fire flicker over Spencer, Ian, and Ryan’s face and feeling right for the first time in a long time as the smell of smoke filled the air._

X

Waking was a slow process, maybe not even a process, it felt like the erosion of the earth over thousands upon thousands of years slowly revealing the fossil of him. Awareness came in small stretched out stages, the feel of breath passing over his lips, in and out, again and again. The feel of dry itchy skin, and the general ick feeling of not touching a shower in too long. The steady beep of something in the distance, then more sounds the rustle of fabric and drifting voices.

Brendon opened his eyes.

It was dark, but a half-baked darkness where everything was cast in shades of grey and the spots that were truly dark stood out because of it. Brendon stared at the opposite wall and blinked slowly, felt the motion as he twitched his fingers and tilted his head heavily from side to side. Brendon stared at his hands they were too pale, foreign but for his tattoo sprawling up his arm, there was an iv in his arm.

Where was he?

Brendon dug for the memory of what had happened but everything felt bathed in fuzz, like there was a disconnect between his head and whatever processed his thoughts. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath even though he knew he was breathing fine.

A hospital. Brendon was in a hospital. He glanced around the room solidifying the thought with cheap simple plastic chairs, blank walls, and the heartrate monitor beeping steadily beside him. There was a door at one side of the room and Brendon could see the pass of feet and slivers of light underneath the door.

Brendon tried to sit up and muffled a scream into his fist as pain erupted everywhere, like his skin was stretched taut and a single movement would release all that tension. He had been hurt. Right. He remembered the pain, the gash on his thigh, the bullet in his shoulder and his chest because of the-

He scrambled at the thin fabric of the hospital gown and pulled it down to stare at his chest. Dark stitches circled his shoulder and his chest and Brendon sucked in a harsh breath because it was real, it had happened. They had been investigating a case, it was supposed to have been simple, he remembered that much, a simple salt and burn.

But there had been Demons. And sirens?

Brendon’s eyes shut as he tried to kickstart his brain into remembering. God, this wasn’t the time. He needed to remember. The sirens were the ambulance, they had been injured, except for Spencer. Jon, he had been stabbed by the Demon. And Ryan? He had been bleeding, so much blood.

They had put a sheet over someone. Amidst the shock he remembered that, blurry and faded as it was, he remembered that.

Someone was dead? No. they couldn’t be. Dead. He would feel it wouldn’t he? Some tangible emptiness in his chest, the space they used to occupy.

Was he even alive?

The pain said yes. Brendon shook his head there were emotions he couldn’t control burning up his chest and Brendon couldn’t tell what was happening as the confusion threatened to swallow him whole. He needed answers, needed to know who was gone, what had happened.

One step at a time, that’s what his dad always said, take everything one step at a time.

He was in the hospital, if the others were injured, they would probably be here too. Brendon inhaled and gripped the off-white sheets as he forced himself to sit up. Pain throbbed through his chest and his thigh and tears burned his eyes but Brendon shook his head and gritted his teeth as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He could do this. One step at a time. He needed to find out what had happened.

Brendon’s feet hovered over the floor as he pressed his palms into the bed and pushed himself carefully up. The floor was cold beneath his feet, like ice slicking its way through his veins all the way to his chest as Brendon swayed from side to side; everything felt so heavy, he felt like he might throw up, like he was going to faint or cry.

With slow steps Brendon walked forward towards the door each step sent pain shooting up his leg like lightning and his chest felt tight. He was gasping for breath and sweating by the time he reached the door and he paused to grab the clipboard in the slot there.

He flicked through the sheet and his heart sunk. Oh.

It was fine. He was fine. He just had to find out what had happened to the others, that was all that mattered. Had to find them, Ryan, Spencer, Jon. One step at time.

The hallways were lit with fluorescent lights that, compared to the darkness of his room, were impossibly bright. Brendon flinched and covered his eyes for a moment as he stared down the hallway, there was no one, it was empty. It was quiet but for the low hum of machinery. Brendon’s face screwed up in confusion but he shook it aside, he needed to find the nurses station, they would know where the others were.

Brendon tottered slowly down the hallway waiting every second for a nurse to pop up and ask him what he was doing out of bed but there was no one. It was like a ghost town and again Brendon wondered if he was dead. The pain coursing through his body and the way he couldn’t get enough air was still an answer though.

The hallway ended in a large square room and at the centre Brendon could see a collection of desks with computer screens. There were no nurses there. Brendon tilted his head really confused because this was a hospital and there were kind of supposed to be nurses there even in the early hours of the morning or at night.

Brendon stumbled forward maybe there would be an answer at the station?

The computers were all on and Brendon settled into a chair with a heavy exhale as his fingers twitched like he was high over the keyboard. He stared at the screen for a long moment brain not computing or processing what he was seeing before he reached out to the mouse and clicked one of the icons.

It brought up a search bar similar to google but Brendon got the sense it was some sort of database for the hospital. Shrugging, Brendon grimaced and typed in Spencer’s name, only a visitor pass application showed up and Brendon smiled softly as he entered Jon’s name next.

Oh.

No. It couldn’t be. But the tiny black font continued to blink out the word _deceased_. He couldn’t breathe. Brendon tried to suck in a rattling breath but he couldn’t open his mouth, couldn’t move. He was frozen with the last image of Jon bleeding out and pale but grinning at Brendon, before that case with a couple of beers and McDonalds on the seat between them.

God no. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t picture it, Jon’s body lying somewhere cold in the morgue. It couldn’t be real.

With shaking fingers, Brendon typed in Ryan’s name. No. No. No. No.

It couldn’t be real. It had to be false. A dream. It was all a dream.

He was going to be sick.

Brendon stumbled away from the computer desk, every movement shaky and full of pain. He couldn’t breathe. He felt numb, empty. They were gone. Half of him was gone, cut off brutally and the wound was still there open and raw.

He had to bring them back. They couldn’t be dead. God they couldn’t be!

A deal. He could make a deal.

They could be brought back. Demons. He had heard the stories, talked to the victims and tried to save them, but it was impossible. They could bring people back. They had brought people back. Brendon didn’t care about the consequences. If he could bring them back. That was all that mattered.

God, they deserved to live more than Brendon ever had. They had family to go home to, they were far better hunters then Brendon ever was, they had been fighting and they had never fixed it but he could fix this. For Ryan, Jon, he could do this. He didn’t care about the consequences.

He needed a box, graveyard dust, and the bones of a black cat. It was convenient that they had all of that in the buggy after the last case where they stopped someone from doing a crossroads deal, it was all too convenient.

Brendon pushed away from the desk and hobbled forward towards the exit. He had to find the car, if he found the car then, then he could save them. He could bring them back.

The air outside was cold and a lone car trundled past the hospital as the night attempted to swallow him whole. Brendon glanced around unsure of where to go, he could call Spencer? He didn’t have a phone though. He had to find the car, a car, then he could, he could save them.

Brendon turned towards the parking lot. He could hotwire a car. That would work. Brendon sucked in a heavy breath and stumbled forward searching for a car that he could hotwire easily. Brendon came to an abrupt halt when he paused in front of the buggy.

What was it doing here? Unless Spencer was here? But where was he? He wasn’t checked in. It didn’t make sense.

Brendon reached out and pressed the button and the trunk clicked open with a pop. It was unlocked. Spencer never left the car unlocked; Brendon knew that because he had been yelled at enough because of it. God. What was going on?

It didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. But the pain and the confusion swirled together with his grief until everything felt like a fever dream and all Brendon could focus on was the need to bring them back. He had to bring them back.

Brendon pushed aside the guns, the rock salt, and found the small wood carved box. He flicked it open in the half-light of the lamps overhead and stared at the dust, the bone, and nodded. It was enough. He could do this. Had to do this.

The trunk shut with a click and Brendon trailed around to the side and pulled open the car door. God it still smelled like McDonalds and beer, weed and cigarettes. Brendon slid into the seat and turned the keys in the car, it coughed itself to life (Ryan was insistent it was fine, Jon was dubious).

The drive was a blur of the road melting beneath his wheels and the stars winking overhead as he searched for a crossroad. The car slowed to a halt outside of a supermarket plaza with a crossroad in front of him. Brendon’s chest felt tight and he could feel that the stitches in his shoulder were open, blood hot and cooling too quickly in the night air as he got out of the car with the box in his hands. Brendon grabbed a shovel and walked forward trailing the heavy tool against the ground.

The stars watched over him as he dug the shovel into the ground with a pained cry. The ground was almost frozen and Brendon wanted to give up, wanted to cry, scream, anything but accept the reality that they were gone and this was the only way he could bring them back.

When the hole was deep enough, Brendon knelt down and unceremoniously dumped the box into the hole. He shoveled dirt over the hole and held his breath as he rose to his feet. It had to work. It would work. He could tell.

“Now what do we have here?”

A voice asked, low and sultry Brendon whirled around. There was a woman with platinum blond hair and a tight black outfit, for a moment all Brendon could see was the Demon at the house, but this vessel was older and the eyes were colder, an ancient sort of hatred.

“Can you bring people back from the dead?”

“For the right price, can you pay it?”

She stepped into his space, right up close so he could see the flawless porcelain of her skin, Brendon didn’t care, about her beauty, about the price; he could pay it. He nodded and asked, “If I pay the price will you bring back Ryan Ross and Jon Walker?”

“Two people, that will cost you extra.”

She stated as she circled him on thin heels studying him with a grin that was trying to be friendly or seductive but failing massively. Brendon nodded and shivered in the cold air as he asked, “What’s the extra cost?”

“Usually we give you until you die before we reclaim your soul. But to bring back two souls I’ll have to take all the remainder of your life.”

There wasn’t much anyway. Brendon inhaled and paused for just a moment to consider it before he said yes, they wouldn’t want him to do this he knew, but he couldn’t let Ryan and Jon die not like this, he couldn’t. Couldn’t face Spencer or Ryan’s mom knowing they were gone. He loved them.

“They’ll come back normal?”

“Like they woke up from a nap.”

She promised and took a step closer; he could see how blue her eyes were even in the darkness. Brendon exhaled and said, “Yes.”

“We have to seal the deal with a kiss, that okay honey?”

Brendon nodded and the Demon surged forward and pressed her lips to his. It was so cold it was hot burning through him, burning him up, until there was nothing left. Just the heat swallowing him whole, consuming him.

And then nothing.

X

_He was the one to kiss Ryan first. They were digging through an attic absolutely full of crap, old antique chairs and couches so moth eaten and faded they look like a locked item in a videogame, posters and cut-outs with scratches and not enough colour to read. Old toys, cars that broke beneath his feet with a snap, and fabric that might once have been beautiful._

_They were searching for an old pair of pearl earning that used to belong to the woman’s mother and would hopefully put her soul at rest if they found them. Brendon was still hungover from the night before head pounding with a headache and the dust making him feel all clogged up like he was being packaged to ship overseas._

_God, the funeral had only been a week ago but Ryan was already insisting they pick up another case. Brendon felt empty and he couldn’t imagine how Ryan felt._

_Ryan was in front of him, digging through a box of scarves and Brendon couldn’t help but stare, at the scarce rays of sunlight dancing through his hair, the curve of his jaw, and all Brendon could hear was his laughter and the rhythm of his voice. A thousand three-am conversations about their pasts, their future, who they were, who they could be all dancing on his tongue._

_Ryan turned around a scarf in his hands, pale pink with little tassels and Brendon was moving on instinct when he stepped forward and cupped Ryan’s jaw and leaned close. Ryan stared at him with those brown eyes, like coffee in the morning, or the first touch of soil after rain and met Brendon half-way._

_It was liquid heat in his gut and he was soaring tasting alcohol on both their tongues, desperation and the salt of tears. And Brendon couldn’t get enough like Ryan had replaced oxygen and Brendon couldn’t stop breathing him in._

_Surrounded by antiques on all sides, in the pale slides of sunshine, they were already a thing of the past before they had begun._

X

Pain. That was all Brendon knew, there was no gentle slip into the waking world, there was no sleep, no rest, barely a reprieve from the pain. The very air seemed to take chunks out of his skin, burn his lungs as he struggled to breathe, nothing was soft and everything felt like sandpaper to his senses.

He was being consumed by the pain, swallowed and digested into something else.

The Demon, Allister, grinned up at Brendon where he was pinned to the wrack gasping for breath with his head lolling to the side. Brendon wasn’t a hateful person by nature, but by God did he hate Allister. That smug smile, those acrid yellow eyes following every movement like he was some grand performance and every drop of blood was to be savoured.

“Now, now kid we’re just getting started no need to look so dejected.”

Allister stated and his voice was a scream burrowing into his brain and Brendon knew he would always hear it lurking somewhere at the back of his mind, whispering. Brendon groaned as Allister picked out a scalpel and held it to the light, the blade catching at the red light of the cave they were in.

He had been an open area earlier but Allister had wanted a change of scenery. There wasn’t much in the way of scenery in Hell.

Hell wasn’t what Brendon had been expecting, he was on one of the upper levels and it was red, brimstone, with racks of tortured souls, but lower it got colder and there was an unsettling blue deep at the bottom of Hell that Brendon saw on occasion.

Allister stepped forward and Brendon flinched in preparation and Allister grinned wider if possible and slashed the knife across his stomach. Brendon screamed, there was no shame in screaming in Hell, pain was pain. Brendon learned that lesson quickly enough.

Brendon thrashed against the restraints panting for breath as blood dripped from his stomach sticky and hot. Allister stepped closer and one hand caressed his cheek in an imitation of intimacy before the hand threaded through his hair and jerked Brendon’s head forehead.

“Such lovely cries any Demon would be happy to torture you kid.”

Allister crooned as he twisted his fingers sharply and yanked out strands of his hair. Brendon cried out, eyes watering but no tears, water didn’t really exist in Hell. Brendon constantly felt parched and famished, until it was all a part of the background thud of pain.

Allister leaned back and grabbed another tool from the tray, it was a blade with a serrated edge. With a grin, Allister dug his fingers into Brendon’s stomach, right into the cut, he screamed as it gushed blood and the pain ripped through him and he just wanted it to end, to be over.

“All this suffering just to bring your friends back when the Apocalypse will happen in a few years. Such a waste.”

Allister tutted as he dragged the knife lightly over his skin before he plunged it into Brendon’s chest. He screamed and screamed, for what felt like hours or years as Allister twisted the blade with a squelching sound and Brendon felt the hot lurch of blood streaming down his chest.

“They don’t even like you that much. Weren’t you all fighting before this happened anyways? In fact, they probably hate you now, what stupid idiot makes a deal with a Demon? This is actually probably all your fault, you insisted on taking the case, didn’t you?”

Allister jeered dragging his fingers over the wound and pressing into them until Brendon screamed and thrashed and he laughed, the sound bouncing about distorted and endless.

“Please…Stop.”

Brendon begged weakly his voice a shadow in the darkness of the cave. Allister grinned and shook his head as he replied, “Now kid, you know I can’t stop its my job. But well, if you get off the wrack and torture some souls then it won’t be so bad. What do you say?”

The same question. That question. It could all be over, the pain and the torture. He would just have to torture other souls, other people.

How many times had he said no? It felt like Allister popped the question every other torture session, like a particularly persistent suitor.

How long had he been down here? It felt like centuries, years upon years in the blink of an eye and the drops of blood.

He couldn’t. Hell may have claimed his soul but he couldn’t torture people, couldn’t torture a soul. He couldn’t. He would never forgive himself, would never escape it. Brendon would rather suffer than feel others suffering beneath his fingers.

“No.”

Brendon replied and the Demon’s expression flickered to furious before with an easy shrug and a nasty grin he replied, “Fine suit yourself.”

Brendon screamed as a blade drove itself through his wrist, and another one through his throat until he couldn’t scream anymore, until all he knew was pain.

X

_They started to break so soon, too soon. All the golden days of summer wasted and left in the dirt. They had all been too young when they started and the stress begin to crack them all, stripping them down to nothing. They had all been so tired._

_One case after another after another. Ian gone, angry and bitter, Ryan’s dad and the funeral. So much death surrounding them constantly, their mistakes like raw sores so that even the bright moments begin to grow dull._

_There had been so many trips towards the end filled with silence. They couldn’t agree on the music so they would all sit in silence, only the hum of the buggy beneath Spencer’s hands any indication they were moving at all._

_Brendon had tried so hard to fix it. Too hard. They had all tried. But it was hard to fix the problem when you couldn’t find the source. They all thought there were different sources, they were all trying to fix different problems. Maybe they should have taken a break, just to get away from each other for a bit, but every time they tried hunting seemed to suck them back in with another case, another victim that they had to save because they couldn’t sit back and do nothing._

_Maybe they were doomed from the start._

_Then there were the arguments, screaming matches that would erupt like a storm sometimes suddenly and out of nowhere, other times brewing all day. There had been so many arguments about which motel to stay at, what the monster of the week actually was, who was in charge of their group, why did they have to have a leader? Traditional hunting vs the New style of hunting, salt and killing and research and diplomacy._

_They had broken, the words that passed their lips became bitter, chunks of torn pride hurled at the world for all to see. They became actors playing the part of friendship, of brotherhood, without meaning it and it was starting to cost them. The number of casualties began to climb and they lost their edge, that bond which had held them together and made them survive became cracked and brittle snapping back on them._

_Brendon had felt like he was being pulled from two sides. A part of him wanting everything to go back to normal, to fix it, to bring back what they had lost. Another part of him had wanted the fighting to be over, was certain that maybe this was the end._

_It didn’t matter it was over now either way._

X

Pain, it was all he knew, he was swimming in it, drowning in it, it was swallowing him whole, consuming every last shred of his person, his identity, his memoires, until it was all just pain. He couldn’t remember a time when there wasn’t pain, like he had not been created without its absence.

He let out a ragged cry as Allister chopped off one of his fingers with a grin and a tilt of his head. The Demon brough out a screwdriver and wedged it under the next nail and said, “See this can end now kid, all you have to do is say yes and it will be over.”

That’s all he ever had to do. Say yes. Yes, to hunting. Yes, to the deal. Yes, to this. It wasn’t a hard word, barely a syllable and he could stop the pain end it all.

A part of him knew that was wrong, that he shouldn’t say yes but he couldn’t remember why. A part of him itched to torture others, to make them feel what he was feeling. Was that wrong? He couldn’t tell anymore, what was right? Wrong? Did it even matter?

Was it not enough to want the pain to end?

Allister hummed and pried up his nail, he screamed as blood dripped down his hands and those acrid yellow eyes stared into his and ripped everything out as Allister asked, “Well?”

It could all be over. No more pain, no more suffering. It was a small cost, to have to torture other souls. They were in Hell they probably deserved it to. If not him then someone else. Why not?

“Y-Yes.”

He stammered out. Allister blinked and pulled back for a moment as if surprised that he had actually said yes even though it was his job. Then a huge grin spread over the Demon’s face and he nodded and said, “There you go kid, you’ve made the right choice. And you’re lucky, I’ll take the honour of showing you how it’s done.”

Suddenly, he wasn’t on the rack but was standing, the ground was blisteringly hot beneath his feet but he couldn’t feel it anymore, he glanced at his hand, the blood was still there but he was solid again, all of the injuries were gone. The pain was gone.

He sighed, a full body sigh and Allister grinned at him as he cleaned his knives and stated, “Pretty nice right? Just wait till we get you started on a soul. I have a hunch you’ll enjoy it. Follow me.”

The Demon grasped the handles of the cart and began to push it forward, it bumped and clattered and he watched for a long moment before he followed after the Demon. Allister nodded at the tray and pointed with one hand at a long piece of metal with two prongs at either side and said, “This right here is a heretic’s fork I like to use these on supposedly upstanding Christians, if they try to speak, well it isn’t pretty but it’s fun to watch.”

He stared at the torture device with wide eyes as they exited the cave and entered a long hallway, filled with doors upon doors, like a weird office building. The cart rattled as it was pulled along and Allister pointed at a wide variety of knives, “Course you know what a scalpel is, but its important to know which knife does what sort of damage. All very important for torture.”

Allister pushed open a door and they were in another cave and he could see three souls strung up on the rack, two men and a woman, one of the men was old and white with saggy skin and a red face, the other was a young man with blond hair and a sloped jaw, the woman in the middle had brown hair and severe lines around her face.

“These I think you’ll enjoy helping me with. The old man, a politician and a pedophile, the boy a rapist, the women abused her children for years. Come here, we’ll start with the old man.”

Allister instructed and he walked forward feeling as if he was only vaguely controlling his body, disgust and anger lurked in his chest as he stared at the three souls. Allister handed him a long knife and said, “This one’s good for stabbing, not slashing. Now the most sensitive parts of the body are obvious, but anywhere can be painful once we get started. Go ahead.”

He glanced at the knife in his hands and at Allister who was watching him with expectant eyes. He stared at the old man who was blubbering words reaching him from very far away about how he could pay him, how it wasn’t his fault and on and on.

The knife plunged through the old man’s hand and he screamed a hoarse squeal like a pig being slaughtered. Blood covered him and he stared at the knife in the old man’s hands with wide eyes, he felt alive, like something was stirring.

“Good, keep going.”

Allister ordered, and it was like he was holding the leash and he was a dog chomping at the bit, scenting blood and ready to kill. He pulled the knife out and brought down again, and again. Blood covered him, baptized and bathed him and he laughed and laughed at the pleasure as the man’s screams ripped through the air like the best sort of music and drugs.

“That’s enough.”

He stopped and turned to Allister who was smiling at the corpse of the old man and he continued, “Good, now let’s add some technique.”

X

_That night had been the worst underneath the faux brightness of McDonalds and the radio on for once they had all sat in silence in the parking lot. Jon had been flicking through his phone researching the ghost they were supposed to salt and burn, supposedly the bones were in the servant elevator, they just had to find that and it would be over._

_Spencer had suggested they try to just speak to the ghost again Ryan had taken a swig from his bottle and glared at Spencer as he shook his head and replied, “We salt and burn, then we get out before anyone else dies.”_

_Brendon had wanted to support Spencer, because talking to the ghosts did work on occasion and he always felt better when they did it that way, but Ryan was in a mood and Jon was nodding in agreement and he felt paralyzed, voiceless._

_“I just don’t get why we can’t try it. We can split up.”_

_Spencer insisted and Brendon shook his head in the backseat at Spencer because this wasn’t going to end well. Ryan took a long sip of his whiskey and stared at Spencer out of the corner of his eyes before he stated, “Get out.”_

_“What the fuck Ryan?”_

_Spencer demanded and Brendon felt like he couldn’t breathe like he was watching a car crash in action. Ryan set his bottle down in the cup holder and turned to face Spencer as he stated, “I said get out.”_

_“You’re drunk you’re not thinking clearly.”_

_Spencer insisted and Brendon shook his head because even if Spencer was right that was probably the absolute worst thing to say to Ryan, then again it was Spencer he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind to Ryan. Brendon tried so hard to please Ryan sometimes, he kept words back in his mouth just knowing they would upset Ryan and it hurt but it was good to be in Ryan’s space so he didn’t mind._

_“I’ll show you thinking clearly.”_

_Ryan stated and looked like he was either going to attempt to tackle Spencer or pull his gun out when Jon snapped and yelled, “Enough. Ryan shut up and stop drinking, Spencer we’re doing it Ryan’s way. Both of you stop acting like children.”_

_Spencer frowned expression grim and Ryan huffed and crossed his arms over his chest staring out the window. Brendon felt invisible in the back seat, intangible like he would disappear and no one would notice._

_God he just wanted this hunt to be over already so they could all go back home. They all needed a break; he wanted his mom’s cooking and his dad’s stupid analogies. He wanted them to come back and be better, wanted to believe they could fix this._

_They parked a block away from the house and Brendon stepped out into the cool night air with a shiver, he tugged his leather jacket tighter around his chest as he checked his gun and his knife, the others were doing the same except Ryan was standing a few feet away from them all._

_Brendon sighed and walked forward silently to stand beside Ryan, he placed his hand on Ryan’s arm. Ryan shrugged it off with a frown and said, “Not now Brendon, God you’re so needy.”_

_“I was just trying to help idiot.”_

_Brendon said trying for lightness but it came out flat. Ryan whipped around and he stared at Brendon for a long moment before his shoulders slumped and he exhaled, “Sorry I know I’ve been a jerk lately I’m just trying to process-“_

_“I know, it’s okay.”_

_Brendon replied and carefully didn’t pat Ryan on the arm as Jon walked past with a roll of his eyes and nodded at the house. Spencer followed and Brendon tried for a grin as he said, “Come on, can’t keep the princesses waiting.”_

_Ryan didn’t grin as he turned to follow and Brendon couldn’t stop the way his heart sunk in his chest. He felt like a piece of laminated paper wobbling in the wind as he trudged after them and prayed it would all be over one way of another after this._

X

He glanced up from the soul he was working on, she was a screamer, shrill and high, he was getting annoyed. With a grin he slashed carefully through her vocal cords, he didn’t want to kill her yet he was still having so much fun. She choked on the blood eyes wide as she stared him with helpless afraid eyes, in her life up-top she had published multiple books full of false information just to support her frankly disgusting views.

Reaching over for the tray, he glanced over the options and idly wiped off the blood coating his hands as his fingers hovered the surgical tools he paused and picked up a long knife he studied it for a moment before he placed it back in the tray.

The ground began to shake.

He glanced around the cave confused as dust rained down from the ceiling far above, from one of the upper levels. He was near the bottom these days with the worst scum of the earth and it was colder down here which he couldn’t say he liked but it was better than the heat.

The woman was whimpering when he turned back to face her with a shrug, if it was important, they would call him and tell him. It was probably just Heaven’s forces staging some kind of attack, those were becoming more frequent as they drew closer to the Apocalypse.

He grabbed the woman’s hand and carefully pried off a finger nail watching the blood well up and trickle over his fingers with that same thrill every time. He did it again and watched as her face scrunched up in pain and he couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from his lips as he took a step back to admire his work so far.

The door to the cave clanged open at the same moment as white light pierced the room. Brendon hissed at the bright light and turned to the lower Demon which had scampered into the room and was shrinking against the wall.

“What’s going on?”

He demanded as he set the tool down and dried his hands off ignoring the woman who was staring at the light with wide hopeful eyes. The minor Demon stared up at the light fearfully and announced, “The Angels are looking for a soul, they’ve already breached the first four rings.”

“Already, that was quick.”

Brendon replied as he glanced up at the brilliant white light overhead, it made him feel nauseous and it hurt his head, he tilted his head to the side and asked, “Any idea who they’re looking for, I doubt they’re here to finally pick up Chopin.”

The minor Demon shook its head and replied, “The higher ups say they’re here for the righteous man.”

Oh, they were here for him. He wondered why it had taken them so long. It didn’t matter anymore; he knew they wouldn’t be able to reach him here.

But it did mean the Apocalypse was really kicking off. It was time to go back up top he supposed.

“You’re dismissed.”

The minor Demon disappeared in a burst of sulfur and he turned around to face the woman once more. She was still staring at the light and he was tired of the wide eyes as he latched onto a knife and slit her throat, she gurgled for breath and was silent.

He glanced up at the light one last time, he could see them like stars, and Demons attempting to swallow them, he wondered if any of the Princes were fighting, some of them still had their wings. Probably not though, they were more of a sacrifice the fodder first type of leader.

Brendon rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the cave and into the hallway. He hated the hallways and they weren’t even the original Hell design; they had been suggested by the King of the Crossroads but he supposed they did their job well enough.

There was someone walking down the hallway, they were cloaked in a pale grey suit and Brendon frowned at the Angel as his grip tightened on the knife at his side.

“There you are.”

The Angel stated, he had black hair that was plastered to his forehead and olive skin and when he spoke his voice was almost high but not quite. The Angel continued, “They said your soul would be on one of the upper rings. But then again you can’t trust reconnaissance these days.”

He spoke like he was nervous and Brendon could see it in the quick dart of his eyes. He frowned and asked, “Why are you here?”

“To send you back up top, apparently you still have a role to play in the whole Apocalypse business.”

Brendon frowned and unsheathed the knife; he wasn’t letting one of them send him back up there. If he was going to back, he would do it himself. The Angel frowned expression serious as he unsheathed his blade, it glowed in the darkness of the hallway.

He shot forward in an attempt to surprise the Angel, but it was no use, he was there one second and pinning Brendon against the wall in the next. His knife clattered from his fingers to the floor as the Angel pressed his blade to his neck suddenly a warrior of Heaven and not some nervous wreck.

“Sorry about that. I’m going to send you back now, hope you enjoyed your stay have a nice flight.”

White light began to filter around the edges of his vision and Brendon struggled as it began to consume him, it was painful like bleach washing away all of the pigment in his skin, all of his stains, his scars, and leaving just a vessel behind.

Brendon closed his eyes against the white light and felt his soul lurch like the beginning of a roller coaster, he felt spun around and shaken together molecules vibrating and shifting.

Then nothing.

X

Brendon opened his eyes.

Darkness surrounded him, it swallowed him, it was all he could feel. No, that was wrong. He could feel the rush of breath over his lungs, in and out. What a strange sensation to notice. You didn’t need to breathe in Hell, not unless you wanted to.

Where was he?

There had been an Angel and he had sent him back. Back where? Brendon remembered that much, he tried to shift his arm but reached a wall, confused he tried to shift his other arm only to reach the same conclusion. Panic spiked his heart as Brendon shifted until he could press his hands up from against his chest, he reached the hard panel of wood almost immediately.

No. He couldn’t be.

Brendon sucked in a ragged breath and tried not to think about the fact that he was buried alive, tried not to think about anything but how to get out. Brendon focused on calming his breathing, in, out, until he could think clearly. He needed to get out, every moment he wasted was one in which he wasted oxygen.

It would be ironic if he was brought back only to die again buried alive.

He kicked with his feet against the boards and they began to give way, Brendon repeated the motion until the wood splintered and he could shove aside the boards, immediately dirt began to poor into the coffin. He was six feet under, he needed to hold his breath until he could get out. He could do this. Just do this and he could deal with the aftermath.

Brendon shoved aside dirt with his hands until he could sit up, he continued to pull at the dirt shoving it into the coffin beneath him, breathing as little as possible as dirt scraped his fingers and covered his clothes. He wasn’t sure how long he dug for; the weird directionless space of little air crumbled around him piece by piece until his fingers tangled into grass.

With a final pull light splintered through the cracks in the soil. Brendon couldn’t help the near sob of relief as he continued to push aside the grass until he could climb out of the hole in the ground. He took deep sobbing breaths as he settled on the grass knees cradled to his chest as he glanced at his surroundings.

He was in a field, bright green grass as far as he could see and in the very far distance a copse of tress. So much colour, the feel of the breeze through his hair. How long since he had felt the breeze? He shivered and glanced at his body, he was in a suit, it was covered in dirt now and his hands were red and raw from clawing through the dirt.

He was alive. He had been in Hell. He had tortured people. And he was alive.

Brendon cried, for the first time in he couldn’t tell how long he cried, great heaving sobs and the tears spilled over his cheeks endlessly as he dug his fingers into the grass at his side and tried to breathe. God he was fucked up, so fucked up and there was an Apocalypse on the horizon and he had tortured people and liked it, had been tortured. He wasn’t certain how he was supposed to move on now.

Some time later, when the sun hovered high in the sky warming his skin, he heard the sound of a car. He waited curled up in the centre of the field and watched as beyond the copse of trees a small shape appeared steadily growing closer.

It wasn’t the buggy, it was a van, white in colour it trundled along and Brendon watched it grow closer with his heart beating a strange staccato in his chest. The van pulled slowly to a stop a few feet away and then the doors opened.

Spencer stepped out of the van, his hair was shorter and he looked furious and like he was going to cry all in one as he walked slowly forward. There was another man, who got out of the other side of the van, he had brown hair, a high forehead, and long legs.

Brendon stumbled to his feet and suddenly Spencer was in front of him and his arms wrapped around him. Brendon startled for a moment, flinched back so unused to kind human contact before he wrapped his arms around Spencer, inhaling the scent of weed and Febreze that was home.

“You fucking idiot.”

Spencer choked out and he was crying, Brendon was crying again he wasn’t aware that he had enough to cry. Brendon’s fingers gripped Spencer’s jacket and he choked out a rough, “I’m sorry, so sorry had to save them Spencer, sorry.”

“It’s okay B, you’re back that’s all that matters, it’s over now.”

Spencer reassured one hand stroking through Brendon’s hair and for the first time in a long time he felt at peace, felt safe. Brendon was the first to pull back, he felt like a mess tears still slipping down his cheeks as he stared at Spencer and asked, “Where are they? Are they okay?”

Spencer’s face fell and he opened his mouth.

“They’re not dead?”

Brendon demanded and Spencer shook his head. He sighed in relief and Spencer frowned and replied, “They left. After you made the deal, they decided they were done. Christ Ryan was so angry at you Brendon; I think Jon would have murdered you if given the chance. They’re practically retired these days.”

“They were angry that I saved them?”

Brendon asked unable to process what he was feeling. Anger? Remorse? Guilt? Depressed?

Spencer shook his head and nodded before he replied, “They were, but when I talked to them last, they were doing okay.”

“Wait how long has it been since I’ve been gone?”

Brendon asked plucking at the grass with his fingers as he tried to swallow everything. The guy standing beside Spencer answered, “It’s been six months.”

“Six months?”

Brendon asked, it had felt like years down there, it had been years. He vaguely recalled Allister telling him that time passed differently between Hell and Earth but he hadn’t been expecting this. Spencer rested a warm hand on Brendon’s shoulder and it grounded him long enough to focus on the other guy who smiled slightly and said, “I’m Dallon, I helped Spencer find you.”

“He’s a prophet.”

Spencer added and Dallon frowned but nodded. Brendon reached out and shook Dallon’s hand and numbly replied, “Nice to meet you.”

It was all too much, too much information, smells, taste, touch, Brendon couldn’t think, could barely feel. He felt like he was drying out in the sunlight. Spencer noticed, he always did, and wrapped an arm around Brendon’s shoulder.

“Come on let’s go home.”

X

_They’d been happy once. Brendon knew that and the moments were precious when he looked at them. It had been good, between the hunts, sometimes on the hunts. That was how Brendon wanted to remember it. The laughter over some stupid joke as they passed around a blunt, someone always had a guitar, sometimes him, sometimes Ryan, and they would just play. It was the thrill of a mystery, where they spent hours in the library like those old cartoons. Or interrogating the witnesses, with Spencer who was always so serious, with Jon who was horribly awkward at it, with Ryan who was so charming all Brendon had to do was smile._

_He wanted to remember the press of Ryan’s lips and little snatches of poetry he would press into Brendon’s hands under the table or between pressed sheets. It was Spencer talking about the werewolf clan he was a part of and weird little supernatural anecdotes. It was Jon sliding up to Brendon and teasing him about his lack of knowledge but always helping fill in the gaps._

_There were so many bad memories but the good ones were powerful because of that. Parties they were invited to because they were young, the taste of beer on his tongue and dancing knowing he was safe. Little touristy spots on the side of the road, ones that made no sense, and some that did._

_He remembers finishing a mission early in DC and Ryan deciding they were going to the Smithsonian whether everyone wanted to or not, it had been amazing, to see the past so tangible. Spencer had dragged them all to go to a carnival one night and Brendon could still taste the caramel apple, the jerk of the bumper cars, and the tiny plushie Jon had won for him. Jon insisting, they go and visit his mom and she had made them food and it had been easy. He liked to go to the church at whatever town they were visiting, most of the time the guys didn’t come, but they did sometimes and seeing the stained-glass windows was enough to understand._

_It was hard to remember the good amongst so much bad, but it was there, it had happened. He couldn’t forget it or erase it._

X

Brendon stared in the mirror, his eyes, all black stared back at him. He blinked and watched the mirror version of himself do the same, he felt disconnected from the him in the mirror with black eyes, Demon eyes. Brendon blinked again and they were gone but he could feel it like a scar, like a tattoo, a mark on his soul.

They weren’t just Demon eyes, they were his, and he was a Demon. Maybe the Angel had expected his soul to be purified when he sent Brendon back, but it looked like he had failed, Brendon was still a Demon. He didn’t feel like one. Was it supposed to be some tangible feeling? The constant bay for blood, a need to spark violence?

All Brendon had was the knowledge that he enjoyed torture, that he could kill someone and it wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t phase him.

Demons weren’t supposed to feel guilt, or remorse. But Brendon did, it sat heavy in his chest the weight of his actions, the past, the torture he received and dished out. He was changed and yet he felt the same, he was still Brendon. Wasn’t he?

Brendon glanced at his hands and sighed, he wouldn’t find answers staring into the bathroom mirror. He probably wouldn’t ever find answers. He just needed to focus on the future. One step forward like his dad always said.

The door to the washroom clicked shut behind Brendon as he slid onto the couch beside Dallon who was curled up and writing in one of his journals. Brendon leaned his head against Dallon’s shoulder and Dallon’s fingers reached up to idly stroke through his hair. Spencer slid in on the other side of Brendon and his hand was warm where it covered Brendon’s. This was enough.

“So, the Apocalypse.”

Brendon stated with a grin, Dallon glanced down at him and nodded with a raised brow as he replied, “We going to try to stop it?”

“We live here.”

Spencer replied and Brendon laughed into Dallon’s shoulder at Spencer’s annoyed voice even as Dallon rolled his eyes and replied, “Then we better start planning.”

It wasn’t okay, not really. But it was enough.

X

Welcome to the end of eras

Ice has melted back to life

Done my time and served my sentence

Dress me up and watch me die

If it feels good, tastes good

It must be mine

Dynasty decapitated

You just might see a ghost tonight

X

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! This fic took way longer and way more energy than I thought it would but I’m glad its over. I hope you all enjoyed the little insight to Brendon’s story in this AU, some of the stuff here might appear later so keep your eyes open. Reviews/comments are always appreciated, the next part is probably going up around April. Thanks!


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